


That time you hummed the opera

by ordika



Series: Spores and Treks and Hot Doctors [2]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24759355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordika/pseuds/ordika
Summary: "Have you ever heard someone try to hum Kasseelian opera?"Or, how Paul and Hugh met.Pretty sure theres at least 10 of these already, but here is my contribution anyhow. Enjoy.
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Series: Spores and Treks and Hot Doctors [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793224
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	That time you hummed the opera

**Author's Note:**

> first time writing star trek fiction, hope its not terrible, ive been stuck without ideas, but these two just gave me so many ideas. also, these two might be the most beautifully televised gay couple/ppl of all time. discovery done good.  
> also ill probably write more, so feedback would be most appreciated ;*

It was just like any other afternoon: work, coffee, then more work, maybe even a bit more coffee to do more work. Casual. Except lately, things hadn’t exactly been ideal. Just a few nights ago when he’d had dinner with his family he’d snapped and almost given his father a heart attack just for daring to ask about his work.

There was a certain problem that he just couldn’t put his finger on. At first, he’d simply ignored it; it had seemed so simple, he’d merely taken one look at it and known the solution; but now when he actually needed to figure it out, it simply kept eluding him. Time and again.

He had been stuck before, of course, so he had a few ideas that could help him move past it, but all the former slumps just seemed so… unimportant. Free, even. Now, he had a clear goal (an actual job, but he preferred not to think of it that way), a partner who seemed to be bursting with new ideas and ways to move their research forward, and he just… he was scared of falling behind.

Now, the easiest way to get new ideas is, of course, to try new things – something he’d always struggled with. He liked change, and wasn’t at all against new experiences, but he just… liked to have his own way. So in an attempt to step out of his comfort zone, or more to expand it a little, he started frequenting cafés. It was a pleasant enough experience, but unusual enough to get him going: he’d had several new, coffee induced ideas, which all turned out to be terrible (except the one, but that was just to visit new cafés every few days, so he wouldn’t get used to the one place and defeat his purpose entirely).

This particular afternoon started out much the same: looking for a new café that would be suitable for his work, choosing a coffee-like beverage that he deemed accurate, then hiding away in a corner, wrapped up in his work (and occasionally eavesdropping, but only when he really couldn’t help himself).

That day he chose particularly well: an airy café with five floors, with three bars in elevators, friendly but not nosy staff, and some sort of weird music that he was actually beginning to like. It was relaxing in a way that seemed to work wonders on his mind: after only half an hour, he had two bad ideas that he’d proven wrong, and two others that just might work. One of them was especially promising, he was racking his brain trying to figure out exactly how it wouldn’t work, when something horrifying reached his ears.

He’d been relaxing to the music that drifted only barely audibly to the level he chose (for exactly that same reason), and then this terrible, twisted version of it joined in, ruining its harmony. What was even worse, that version – that voice, was human. And just to add insult to injury, it was very, very close.

Paul looked up horrified from his work, seeing barely a few beings around him, none of whom seemed to realize this invasion of auditory senses, scanning for this ruin of ears, but to no avail.

“Whoever is trying to torture me with this incredibly off-key performance, please just stop,” he said to no one (and yet exactly that someone) in particular.

“What’s the matter, too uptight for the live show?” a human, male voice responded, too close for his own comfort.

He twisted around almost completely, looking for the source of all this irritation, finding it in the form of a man, sitting in a corner only a few tables away from him, obscured by the lighting and weird shapes of the café.

“Whatever the case, will you please just stifle it already,” he responded, already turning back to his work.

The singing – humming, audible torture – did cease, but just as he was about to relax, he heard something even more horrifying – movement.

“Oh, no please, not this-” and he stopped dead. This was… he wasn’t… this is not how he imagined this… situation… man… would turn out.

He was making his way to his table, and Paul just sat there, mesmerized, frozen mid-speech, taking in all that… man… that was put before him. He’d imagined some weirdo, some old man obsessed with the sound of his youth, someone who only ever lived in cafés, anyone – anything – other than this… simmering hot specimen of male beauty he was presented with.

Just tall enough, with short black hair, the shadow of a well-kept stubble on his chin, intelligent, curious dark eyes, brown skin that was the perfect opposite of his bleached white exterior. He was just so… perfect. And not only in a universal way, but for him. Perfect for him.

“My silence, I’m afraid, is dependent upon this conversation, so you’ll have to choose,” the creature said, sitting down, edging dangerously close with one of his knees.

“Your… proximity, offending as it may be, is a hell of a lot better than your so-called singing, which, might I add, sounded closer to a tortured cat than anything supposed to bring pleasure.”

The man was watching him intently, leaning in with an arm on the table. He currently cracked a smile, one that lit up his entire face. How does one casually let drop the fact that one is gay as hell and infatuated and probably already head over heels in love when one is faced with perfection and… whatever sort of humming this man had attempted.

“Kasseelian opera. I take it you’re not a fan.”

“Well, even if I were, that show would have made me just as mad.” Wow, those were… actual words. A sentence. A normal response. Without any hints, without screaming marry me. This could work.

“You don’t really seem that mad anymore,” the man said, looking deep into his eyes. That stare was both everything he needed and incredibly uncomfortable. At first, he was afraid to hold it, but upon daring to look back into those deep brown eyes, he simply found interest. Good. Interest was maybe something he could work with.

“This music actually kinda gets me,” he said, pointing up.

“Well, aren’t you such a hypocrite.” In response, Paul merely raised an eyebrow. The man also pointed up, resting his elbow close to his, so that their hands were almost touching. “This is Kasseelian opera.”

Paul slowly lowered his hand, then offered it. “Paul Stamets.”

Seeing the spike of interest in that stare, he knew right then and there, that for this man, he might just get into humming.

“Hugh Culber.”

Or just about do anything.


End file.
